


Thursdays

by Morgana



Series: Thursdays With the Thunderer [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: All Thor wants is a few hours on Thursday afternoons. It really isn't that much to ask, given that it's his fucking day.





	Thursdays

Thor likes to tell himself that he can stop at any time. He just hasn’t wanted to, and why should he? Thursdays are _his_ day, after all. He isn’t demanding feasts and sacrifices (and, to be fair, he’d never actually _demanded_ them to begin with; he just hadn’t turned them down when they’d been offered) or even asking for the recognition of prayers or remembrance. All he wants is a few hours on his own, and that was easy enough to procure.

His friends trust him, you see. And why shouldn’t they? He stands by their side in battle, he argues Midgard’s case before his father, he even chains his own brother and delivers him to SHIELD on a semi-regular basis. (And no, knowing that Loki only ever remains in custody as long as he is willing to stay doesn’t play any part in Thor’s willingness to put him there.) So when he told them he needed a few hours a week alone in his quarters without any form of observation, they’d been all too happy to ensure that he had the time he required.

Of course, they would never have agreed if they’d known what use he puts those hours to. And if Stark ever gets a little too curious or Natasha takes it on herself to spy for Fury, then his carefully constructed oasis will disappear. Thor is well aware of that, but he isn’t about to forfeit this time. It’s _his_ , just like Asgard and Mjolnir and Loki are his, and he won’t part with a minute of it for anything less than Ragnarok itself.

Besides, everyone says he’s much more relaxed ever since he’d started claiming Thursday afternoons for his ‘reflection period’.

He isn’t feeling all that ‘relaxed’ at the moment, but he really doesn’t care, not when the hands holding him steady tighten on his hips and fingers dig into his skin. There will be bruises later; Thor will touch them in the shower for the next few days, never once failing to grow blindingly hard when the ache and visible reminder on his skin will take him right back here, to this moment. It’s a familiar refrain, one he cherishes almost as much as he values these afternoons.

A vicious thrust rocks him forward and he groans when he’s yanked back onto the cock that feels like it might split him in two. The burn is good, so very good, especially since they’d engaged in only the most cursory bit of foreplay, just enough to see to it that there would be a deep ache with no real injury. The first round was always like this - heated and hurried, clothes discarded as quickly as possible so they could get right down to the fucking. There will be time for the rest later, once the first flush of passion was spent, when they have hours ahead of them to laze about and play.

“Scream for me,” is hissed in his ear. Thor tries to hold back, tries to fight because he knew they both enjoy it more when he is broken by his own need, but a twist of hips sends the cock inside him ramming right into his sweet spot. Two more thrusts and he’s shouting, shuddering and coming in hot spurts onto his sheets. One of the hands on his hips clamps onto the back of his neck and shoves him down, and Thor rides out the aftermath of his orgasm while he’s treated to a few more thrusts that end in hot pulses filling him up.

Thor closes his eyes and savors the feeling, the gasps behind him as familiar as the way his heart’s still hammering in his ears. He shivers at the slow pull back, feeling empty but well aware that they’re far from done. Rolling onto his back, he lets his legs fall open, allowing the seed within to trickle out, knowing full well that he presents the very picture of a wanton whore. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing long, sweat-soaked strands back, and grins. “You get better at this all the time, brother.”  
  
His friends would never understand why it’s Loki in his bed every Thursday afternoon. They would be scandalized at his bedding both his brother and a would-be conqueror. But they are human, with all the limitations and blindness that has always entailed. They have no concept of the time, blood, and bond that Thor and Loki share. They have no idea what it’s like to be _him_ , to have to move so very carefully through the world, to always sit with care, to have to touch the mortals around him so very delicately lest he break bones or cause serious injury without intent. It’s a thousand times worse than his days in New Mexico, for his strength is so much greater, as his care for those he lives with. So Thor tiptoes through the Tower, handles all the ‘reinforced’ instruments Stark offers him gingerly, and only allows himself to truly let go on these precious, precious afternoons.

For a few sweet hours a week, he can give himself over to Loki, put himself in his brother’s power, and know that he will not risk harming his lover should he grow overly enthusiastic. Loki’s hands leave marks on him, while he frequently leaves bearing the imprint of Thor’s teeth, his back shredded by Thor’s nails. They are not gentle, for they do not have to be; Thor has channeled lightning into their bed, has whipped Loki until he screamed and had Loki slice him open with the knives his brother loves so very much. Theirs is a true passion for the ages, one that cannot be contained or explained or defined, and Thor is old enough now that he sees no sense in trying. Better simply to enjoy this one pleasure in a world that offers so many trials.

Loki reaches out to run a hand along Thor’s thigh. “You look used, brother dear,” he purrs, lips curving up in a wicked smile that has Thor’s cock already hardening with anticipation. “But not nearly used enough.”

Thor groans and pulls Loki on top of him, looking forward to feeling his brother slide deep inside again. He opens his legs wider, moaning loudly as more of Loki’s come slips out. The sheets will be absolutely filthy by the time they’re done, stained with sweat and come, and Thor will sleep on them for days, breathing in deep every time he lays down, savoring their mingled scents until they finally fade. It’s a pale imitation of how things used to be, how they still should be, but it’s what he has, what they both have until the wheel turns and they can find their way back to each other in full. And right now, as Loki rocks against him and whispers just how he intends to spend the afternoon painting Thor’s skin with their mutual come, it’s more than enough.

And perhaps Thor is wrong and he can’t stop, but that doesn’t matter. No, what is important is that his friends can never find out. And as long as Thor is careful, they never will.


End file.
